The Tensile Strength of Memory
by Dollar Short
Summary: In which Charles and Erik have more in common than they realize, and it might not be a good thing. Follows events of XMFC, a collection of missing scenes leading to AU beach scene and beyond. Charles/Erik.
1. Chapter 1

The characters and storyline contained herein are the property of someone who is not and will never be me. It is intended to be nothing more than an exercise in fannish appreciation, typing speed and thesaurus abuse.

Holy Guacamole! Here be slash.

**The Tensile Strength of Memory**

**Chapter One**

"A man's friendships are one of the best measures of his worth."

Charles Darwin

**. . . . . . . .**

It had never been a conscious and reasoned choice and in that regard he allowed himself some small measure of clemency. He recognized at a relatively young age that what he had been forced to become was not a true indicator of the potential that he held within himself. Unfortunately, he could not escape the fact that although the first time he killed a man he had been reacting purely on an instinct far more powerful and dangerous than either he or his tormenter could have imagined, the lives he had cut short in the years afterwards, while in some part a consequence of that earlier outburst, were also the result of a course of action he alone had instigated. His hands were stained with the blood of those he had found wanting and he realized that if he was ever to make peace with the fundamental differences that set him apart from other men he would also, in part, have to deny them.

_US Coast Guard ship - Florida_

Erik found himself being herded along one of the lower decks, leaving a trail of small puddles along the metal plates of the passageway, the faint sizzle of electrolytic reaction sang quietly under his feet while the walls and ceiling shifted minutely toward him as he passed, this might not be his territory or his people but here control was only a impulse away. He consciously forced himself relax as he and his would-be rescuer trailed behind some sort of military team, easily identifiable by their sodden uniforms, they were silent and he could sense the weight of their eyes and their nascent fear. It did not bother him, he knew the importance of putting aside his disappointment at losing Shaw and turning his full attention to the unexpected circumstances in which he now found himself. Adapt and survive.

He glanced down at the man stumbling along at his side, beaming at Eric even as he pulled a blanket over his shoulders and shivered, he looked absurdly young and out of place in the grey and utilitarian surroundings.

"I'm only a little younger than you," Xavier remarked mildly, wet hair plastered to his forehead, then his face contorted and he screwed his eyes shut. Erik wondered if it was some side effect of the young man's powers when he suddenly sneezed violently.

"Gesundheit," Erik said politely as they stepped over a door sill into what appeared to be a mess hall. People hustled to and fro, offering blankets, dry clothes and hot drinks. A couple of medical personnel hovered in the distance. "The sea was quite warm, I thought." He peered down his nose as Xavier plunked himself down of a bench, sneezed again and smiled happily up at him.

"I trust that you are not casting aspersions on my manhood. Unlike some, I neglected to pack a wetsuit or perhaps the heat of your passions keeps your fires burning hot? An admirable, if sometimes foolhardy, quality my friend." Xavier's eyes were wide and his expression so open and sincere that Erik was momentarily at a loss for how to respond. The people whose lives intersected his own were rarely if ever so earnest and beguiling in manner, Eric cocked his head and studied the man before with a frank and unguarded interest. He had long ago learned not to underestimate anyone; such habits had saved his life more than once.

His bastardized education at the hands of Schmidt and his obsession with genetics had impressed upon him the broader points of survival. Some of nature's creatures proclaimed their defenses loudly and verbosely, with exaggerated detail and bright splashes of color while others camouflaged their weapons in drab casings and seemingly frail bodies. Erik was not sure which category Charles Xavier fell into, that he was dangerous was a given.

Blue eyes met his with a quiet humor, and Erik was surprised to feel familiar presence pluck at his skin and sink into his being, something called to him, not the ship or the ever creaking metal than cocooned them all but something else. An elemental call from the flesh and bone before him, frowning he took a half step forward, to stand over Xavier, almost touching and instinctively reached out a hand. Xavier flinched slightly but did not back away.

"Charles. Charles!" A woman's voice rang out across the mess hall and Xavier turned away, Erik dropped his hand and watched as a slender brunette made her way to them.

"Jesus, Charles. What were you thinking? Throwing yourself into the ocean is not going to help your cause." She gazed at Erik curiously. "Or mine, Shaw got away, I guess."

"Ah, Moira, there you are." Xavier got to his feet, still shivering slightly, "Moira McTaggert meet Erik Lehnsherr. Erik here is rather talented, don't you think?" He leaned toward Erik and whispered conspiratorially, "Moira's with the CIA. She's after Shaw and we're helping. All a bit hush hush."

Erik wondered who exactly 'we' was, took the woman's offered hand and grunted. He had no use for any government's lackeys but she could prove useful. Next to him Charles sneezed and perhaps it was his only his imagination but Erik could have sworn that the muffled clang of metal upon metal reverberated across his skull.

_Covert CIA Research Base_

Charles left his sister ogling Hank and went in search of a decent cup of tea. It seemed that in matters of national security and secret research facilities, the government could nurture the brightest young minds, equip the most advanced laboratory in the country and build amazing new aircraft, but providing its citizens with a proper teapot was obviously far beyond their mandate. He was exploring a small kitchenette in the west wing of the building and had his head stuck in a cupboard when he became aware of someone standing in doorway. His thought processes had been fully occupied with the dismal lack of china cups, acceptably sized teapots, Earl Grey tea and sugar lumps. Focusing on the minutia of routine and social ritual was an effective way of confining his awareness of the world to his immediate surrounding.

The presence of two more mutants than he was used to, however welcome, had suddenly become a little overwhelming and he had excused himself from them and Moira. Since reaching out to him through the swirling resistance of the nighttime sea, Erik had been a gentle yet insistent weight on his awareness. He found it both exhilarating and the source of a mild pang of anxiety.

He did not reach out, continuing to peer into the recess off the cupboard, but he knew who stood leaning against the doorframe and his pulse quickened despite himself.

"Why didn't you know?" Erik asked in neutral tones, Charles shut the cupboard door. Something less than complete objectivity flickered behind the words and Charles stilled.

"I don't make it a habit to read every single person with whom I come into contact." It was more a matter of the preservation of his sanity than a respect for other's privacy, a decision with a long a painfully checkered history, much of which he felt was in his best interest to ignore.

"You dug around in my head and yet you don't bother with some covert CIA suit before, oops, accidentally exposing his mutant lab genius. One of your own." Erik pushed away from the door and stepped closer, leaning close enough that Charles could feel the warmth of his breath. If Erik meant to be intimidating he was only marginally successful, Charles inhaled sharply as something tugged at him, as if all the cells in his body surged forward, drawn to the man standing over him. An image flashed through his mind, it was gone too quickly to decipher easily but the feelings of fear and anger that accompanied were all too easy to recognize. Charles shook his head in an effort to free himself of the stray impressions.

"Yes, you're right it was a little careless of me. Our kind if you will, are just so much brighter to me. Given the nature of this facility, I assumed that Hank was an open secret". Charles paused and without thinking raised his hand to rest on Erik's shoulder, Erik's reaction was immediate his own hand flew up and clamped around Charles'. Charles could feel the links of his wristwatch tremble against his skin; he ignored the slight grind of his wrist bones as they were squeezed together and pressed his fingertips gently into Erik's shoulder.

"My sister and I have spent much of our lives hiding in plain sight, and I imagine so have many others. That Moira and the people here are willing, eager even, to work with us is something I have long hoped for. We should not have to hide. We all have so much of offer." Charles kept his eyes locked on the man before him. Erik relaxed his grip but left his hand still curled around Charles' wrist.

"No, we should not have to hide, but whether the rest of the world will accept what we have to offer is something that experience has taught me will come at a price." Erik leaned in ever closer, their foreheads a hairs breadth apart. "You are too enamored with you own abilities, Charles. It clouds your judgment." Underneath the heat of Erik's hand Charles could feel his pulse flutter erratically, and he thought briefly about refuting Erik's words, but the truth was a complicated, messy affair that Charles had promised himself would never see the light of day. Besides Erik was now flexing his fingers against the taut skin of Charles' wrist and all other considerations were starting to fade into the background.

"Tea," he said faintly. "I really could do with a nice cup of tea." With a deliberate effort he pulled away, Erik stared at him for a moment and then let loose a sharp bark of laughter.

"You are so very proper, Charles," and he turned and disappeared through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Tensile Strength of Memory**

**Chapter 2**

"_The highest possible stage in moral culture is when we recognize that we ought to control our thoughts."_

_Charles Darwin_

. . . . . . .

After some searching and a discreet excursion into the wandering mind of one of the commissary staff, Charles was pleased to discover that the CIA and teapots were not mutually exclusive. Clutching his third cup of tea, he made his way to the comfortable common area to find Raven sitting on a couch applying a rather bright shade of pink lipstick.

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Hank seems nice, don't you think? She wiggled her lips together and puckered for her compact mirror, before snapping it shut. She glanced up at her brother.

"Quite splendid." Charles inclined his head in agreement and sipped from his cup.

"Where's your new specimen?" She stood, smoothing down her dress and pulling her bag across her shoulder.

"Raven!" Charles protested, reaching over and picking a speck of lint of his sister's sleeve.

"Don't Raven me, Charles. I've seen the way you've been looking at him. He's the perfect footnote to your thesis. It wouldn't surprise me if you wanted him stuffed and mounted."

Charles choked on his tea and coughed. "He is an extraordinary individual, in both abilities and in what he has survived," he wheezed. "My academic interests are no more relevant than they are in regard to you, or anybody else."

"So you say. Well, whatever else comes out of all this," Raven combed her fingers through her hair, "it's so amazing to meet someone who gets it. Who's like me. I never thought…Anyway, I'll see you later; I'm going to meet Hank in the hangar. He's going to explain his serum therapy to me." She leaned forward to deliver a quick peck to her brother's cheek.

"Purely scientific, I'm sure," Charles remarked sourly.

"Old fart." Raven called over her shoulder as she stalked down the corridor.

Charles sighed and slumped down onto the couch to finish the lukewarm remainder of his tea. He peered down at the tea leaves sprinkled across the bottom of the cup, trying to discern any shapes in the random spread of dregs. He was not a fortune teller, being telepathic afforded him no insight into the future, something even Raven had occasionally failed to understand, that he could sometimes predict the actions of others was only because of his ability to read their thoughts and draw conclusions about where those thoughts and impulses might lead. The tea leaves had no opinion on his current circumstances and Charles deposited the cup on a nearby table with slightly more force than necessary.

That twisting thread of excitement and anxiety that he had reluctantly acknowledged since the existence of Erik Lehnsherr had punched into his consciousness had spread throughout his being, thin and tenuous, like fishing line wrapping itself around his mind, a tangle of impossible knots tightening around parts of himself best left untouched. He had only skimmed through Erik's thoughts and memories. They were too sharp, too vivid, their edges honed like a steel razor by anger and single minded determination. It unsettled Charles and yet he was drawn to the man, like no one he'd ever met before, and even though he could not read his tea leaves or gaze into a crystal ball he could not shake the certainty that Erik would somehow be his undoing.

He rubbed at his temple, the first twinges of a tension headache forming and closed his eyes tilting his head back into the cushions. He did not believe that his future was pre-ordained, there were always choices, good or bad. The past, however could not be changed. It could be forgotten, it could be ignored and it was all too often re-written, but the physical reality and the consequences of past actions would always manifest somehow, somewhere, even to those ignorant of their root cause. There was always a price to be paid. Charles kept his eyes closed and decided a short nap was in order.

When he awoke it was dark outside and still groggy from a fitful sleep, he reached out, a purely reflexive action, easily bypassing those who did not call out so loudly to him. Raven he shied away from, promises made for reasons she had long forgotten and there he was, Erik. Charles sat up, suddenly very much awake. "I say, old chap, that's not terribly sporting of you," he muttered to himself. He sprang up and headed toward the main entrance.

"I could make you stay, but I won't." Those words, more than anything else Charles had said, stayed with him, echoing quietly through the damp night air. Erik watched Charles saunter back into the base, intrigued in spite of his own strict rules regarding staying too long in one place or trusting anyone whose motivations were not as clear as they claimed. On the other hand Erik could respect a man who knew how to deliver a threat and apparently had the wherewithal to back it up, especially when the threat was delivered as a mere afterthought, a casual aside to a more emotional argument about needing friends, of all things. Perhaps Charles wasn't so proper after all, and before he realized what he was doing Erik was turning back.

Once through the doors he turned away from the main atrium, into the shadows of a dimly lit corridor, drawn by a sensation he should not have been able to associate with the living and breathing. He had felt briefly on the ship the day before and now it led him to a figure leaning against the wall, hands in pockets, head dipped as if deep in thought. He dropped the case he was holding to floor, the resulting thud bounced along the empty hallway. Charles jerked back, head colliding with the wall.

"Ow," he complained, peering through the gloom and then more softly, "Erik." He pulled a hand from his pocket and rubbed gingerly at the back of his head.

Erik closed the distance between them. "Here, let me." He batted Charles' hand away and threading his fingers through the other's hair gently ran his fingers over his scalp. Charles hissed quietly but did not pull away.

"You know, Charles, you're quite the conundrum," Erik cupped his palm around the back of Charles' head.

"Me? I assure you, my friend, I'm rather boring and straight forward. And according to Raven something of an old fart." Charles leaned back into the cradle of Erik's hand and gazed up at him, eyes half closed.

"An effective distraction, no doubt." Erik lowered his head, his lips close to Charles' ear. "If you know everything about me, tell me what I'm thinking now."

Charles turned his head slightly, the warmth of his breath mingling with Erik's own. "I don't," he whispered. Erik tightened his grip pulling Charles head even further forward, their noses brushing.

"You don't what," he growled softly, his other hand reaching out and sliding across Charles' hip.

"Kiss and tell," Charles breathed and Erik was pushing him back into the wall, kissing him slowly, closed mouth at first and then his parting lips to flick his tongue along the line of Charles' mouth. Charles opened up underneath him, his mouth hot and sweet.

Erik pulled away, bringing both hands up to frame Charles' face. "Tell me, is this what you meant when you said you could stop me leaving?" Charles blinked at him.

"Absolutely." He reached up and pulled Erik back down arching up to push their hips together. They both shuddered, as he closed his eyes and reveled in the taste of the man in his arms it seemed to Erik that a vibration was bouncing between them, like the discordant song of a broken bell. It emanated from Charles and resonated across his senses. It was not a comfortable sensation. Then Charles was pushing him away, hands planted firmly on his chest.

"Someone's coming," he panted and as if on cue, footsteps echoed further along the corridor and a door banged. "Some suit," Charles explained huskily and stepped around Erik, a blush high on his cheeks and then gesturing toward the lights of the atrium, he cleared his throat, "I should… ah, go. Yes. Very good. I do hope you decide to stay. It would be a good thing for, uh, the team." Before Erik had the chance to say anything Charles had gone. He stood staring at the empty corridor for a minute or so and then remembering the file he had dropped to the floor stooped to retrieve it , the door banged again and someone came trotting up behind him, Erik stepped to one side.

"You lost?" the CIA suit inquired a little irritably, glancing up down the hallway and frowning.

"Not at all," replied Erik smoothly, swinging the case behind him. "Are you?"

The suit shook his head, "No, I just can't remember why I came over this way. My office is over on the east wing." He peered at Erik, "You're that freaky metal guy, right."

Erik bared his teeth in a fixed grin. "Not me. You must have me confused with some other freak."

"Huh," the suit shrugged and wandered away. Erik stayed in the gloom of the hallway, for the first time since he could remember he was unsure of what to do. Finding Shaw, killing Shaw, was his primary focus, his only focus and even when the obstacles that had fallen in his way had seemed insurmountable that focus had driven him forward and through, surviving and in his own way thriving, as every step took him closer to his goal. A goal he would not abandon for anything or anyone and yet now there was the tantalizing possibility of something more.

He started walking slowly toward the main part of the complex, trying to quash the affecting memory of the feel and heat of Charles pressed up against him. Charles, he thought, was playing a game. He played the cultured naïf with enough careless arrogance that had Erik not spent half a lifetime manipulating people with almost as much ease as he manipulated metal, he too might have been believed in the outward appearances of the man. No matter, games could be won, and Erik liked to win.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Tensile Strength of Memory**

**Chapter 3**

_"It is a cursed evil to any man to become as absorbed in any subject as I am in mine."_

_Charles Darwin_

…

Charles awoke the next morning with a headache and a tenacious instance of morning glory, both, he realized with a groan, indirectly attributable to a certain mutant of pitifully short acquaintance. He rolled over on his government issued twin bed and buried his face in his pillow, trying to ignore the parts of his anatomy vying for his attention.

The early morning sun was filtering through ugly grey blinds and the small, bland room was filled with a cold grey light. The dull cast of the walls and furniture made Charles feel like he was in a small tin can, sealed away from the rest of the world. His headache flared, a needle of pain burrowing through his head, for a moment it hurt to think, flitting through his mind were the barest impression of color and form, and a low vibration of noise that immediately brought to mind visions of metal warping and twisting under some unseen external stressors.

They were often there, skimming the peripheries of his conscious mind, that they had suddenly become more intense and frequent was something he decided was of no critical importance, he had grown accustomed to ignoring them over the years. He flopped over onto his back and the web of springs and wire under the mattress jangled and squeaked.

Had Erik taken the information he needed and left the base? Charles wasn't sure if he wanted to know. He raised his hand, fingers to temple and then dropped them back to the mattress. He would find out soon enough.

….

As they walked across the grass to Hank's modified radar installation, Raven threaded her arm through his.

"Are you alright?" She asked, elbowing Charles gently in the ribs. He peered at her in surprise; his sister was not usually so solicitous.

"Perfectly, thank you. Why? What is it you want?" He glanced at Hank walking a few feet ahead of them and talking excitedly to Erik.

"Nothing I need your permission for, Charles. You seem a little more, I don't know. Preoccupied. Serious. Stuffy old stick in the mud." Raven smiled sweetly at him.

"Well, we find ourselves in serious circumstances. There's a lot at stake, here."

"I thought this was what you wanted. Your dream come true." Raven watched Hank climb the steps to the transmitter sphere. "I thought you'd be more excited." She detached herself from his arm and started up the steps. Charles stood on his own at the bottom of the stairs and watched as Hank struggled to open the heavy and awkward looking hatch that served as an entry way.

This was what he wanted, the opportunity to come out of the shadows and make a difference, even if his excitement was tempered by the knowledge that life was never that simple. Erik's words about discovering a new species were an uneasy weight on his mind. Raven was right, it was what he had always dreamt and hoped for, but believing in his own theories and only ever having to apply them to himself and to Raven was one thing, letting others into his own private sanctuary from a world that he had hidden from for too long was another. He had taken the upheaval of his childhood and his fears of being different and transformed them into an intellectual ideal, his to mold and control and now it was slipping from his grasp and fast becoming a concrete reality.

He now knew there were many more mutants and he alone had the ways and means to seek them out and let them know they were not alone. If he was to retain any control it was a responsibility he could not shy away from. He took the steps two at a time.

….

Charles pulled down the electrodes over his head, trying to shut out the rising whine of the machinery around him, Erik' s remark about lab rats and the muted impressions that accompanied his words translating into minute tremors that skittered across the surface of Charles' skin. His muscles tensed instinctively.

The whining reached an ear popping crescendo and suddenly Charles was free, rushing past the confines of his physical body, his consciousness ripping past his carefully constructed mental boundaries. He could feel them, see them in his mind's eye; he leaped from one to another, an oblique sense of distance pushing him this way and that. Someone in the distance shouted 'it's working' and he felt a surge of fierce joy.

Time became meaningless as his mind soared reaching further and further, until something other than all the wonderful mutant minds caught his attention. A muted bang, sounding like it was echoing down a long narrow pipe filtered into his expanded awareness. The noise was faint at first, slowly becoming louder and harsher, Charles realized his losing his outward focus and despite himself his awareness began to retreat, as if answering the strident ringing from his mind, squashing itself back into its normal restricted confines.

His stomach churned and he swayed on his feet and the ground disappeared from underneath him and he was falling. Gradually he became aware of the fact he was sitting on a hard floor, propped upright and there were warm hands holding his.

"Charles, Charles. Oh my God, Hank. What have you done?" Raven voice rose and cracked. Charles peeled open an eye, she was holding both his hands in hers, face turned upward to Hank, who was flapping his arms around in a barely suppressed panic. Charles rolled his head back and met the calm gaze of Erik; it was against Erik's shoulder he rested.

_Erik,_ Charles murmured, he felt boneless and rather mellow. Erik's gaze narrowed as he peered down at him.

"Charles, how do you feel?" Erik adjusted his grip and Charles reclined back further into his embrace.

"Charles," both Raven and Hank cried, leaning over him. Their concern flowed over him with the light warmth of a breeze on a summer's day.

_It was amazing, wonderful. I could never have imagined being able to touch so many minds. Quite extraordinary. Well done, Hank. Did we get the co-ordinates?_

No one answered him, Raven and Hank looked to each other and then over his head to Erik.

Something wasn't quite right. It was not only the expression of wariness on Raven's face; there was a distinct air of unease in the space between his companions. Charles could see the faint eddies of emotion swirling in the air around them all, like the shimmering of hot air rising from the hard surface of a highway. It was almost hypnotic, his eyes tracking across the room.

_Fascinating. How could I ever have not wanted this? _He thought.

"Charles!" Raven snapped her fingers in front of his face. He dragged his eyes reluctantly back to hers, behind him Erik moved, pulling Charles into a more upright position, he raised a hand and grasped Charles' chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. They were clear and bright, and Charles was drawn in, tethered by the man's presence.

"I think we would all prefer it if you spoke out loud, Charles." Erik sounded more amused than anything.

Charles suddenly felt very much like a lab rat as the faces of his companions loomed over him and a mish-mash of their thoughts and feelings nipped at him. He licked his lips. "Oh, sorry," he croaked, his throat dry. Raven rolled her eyes and patted his cheek.

Hank coughed and shuffled his feet. "Perhaps Cerebro needs some re-calibration. I can look at the data we've produced and make some adjustments."

"No no, Hank it worked beautifully. I should have limited myself a little more." Charles tugged on Erik's arm and with his help lurched to his feet. He listed sideways.

"You need to lie down," Erik said firmly. "Raven, Hank if you could gather the information we need. I'll make sure Charles keeps out of trouble." His hand sliding around Charles' waist, warm and strong.

Charles concentrated very hard on not thinking anything at all.

Erik deposited his charge onto his unmade bed. Charles sprawled untidily over the sheets arms hanging off the edge and kicked ineffectually at his shoes.

"Allow me," Erik bent over and unlaced the shoes, pulled them off and put them neatly to one side. He stood over the bed, studying its occupant. Charles looked pale, he laid the back of his hand to Charles' forehead, it was cool and clammy. There was nothing obviously wrong, apart from a little over exertion. Erik knew what that was like, to push oneself to the very limits, to get so caught up in the rush of power, the primal thrill of being able to do what would impossible for anyone else.

Charles had been projecting his sheer delight with the Cerebro machine very clearly and yet he was sure he had felt something else while Charles had been working his telepathic magic. It was the same as when they kissed, only this time standing silently watching Charles, under the blue glow of the electrodes he was not as distracted as he had been when so physically entwined, and over and above the metal skeleton of the laboratory he had felt the tug toward his unique capabilities. Something from Charles whispered to him, teased his senses in a way that had nothing to do with desire and spoke directly to his ability to control and manipulate metal.

"I just need to rest. Thank you. You don't have to stay." Charles closed his eyes. Erik was pretty sure he heard a faint 'go away' rattling somewhere at the back of his mind.

"I thought you wanted me to stay," Erik said perched on the edge of the bed, and gave into his impulses, reaching out to run a hand through Charles' hair. Charles sighed and said nothing.

"Are you sure that you're alright?" Erik didn't even know why he found it so hard to leave, Charles' eyes fluttered open and he sat up slowly, his thigh brushing against Erik's, his hand finding Erik's neck and he pulled him down, kissing him softly. Tiredness and elation and a tight, heavy knot of sensation that Erik couldn't identify tingled against his lips, it was as intimate as anything he had ever experienced, too much so. He carefully pushed Charles back down to the bed, this time it was he who pulled back.

"I'll see you later," he said quietly and retreated quickly from the room, not looking back as he closed the door, he had always prided himself on his self control. If he was going to indulge himself in whatever it was that Charles was offering, he would choose when and where.

He decided to seek out McTaggert and discuss any progress in the hunt for Shaw and his cohorts. He eventually found her tucked away in a small office not far from the laboratory where they had first met Hank McCoy. She was sitting at a desk overflowing with file folders and loose papers; on top of a teetering stack of folders was Shaw's file. The CIA agent was on the telephone, apparently arguing with the person at the other end. Erik pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable.

"No, I don't care what our cousins in Europe say, Shaw must have a," she paused and raised an eyebrow in Erik's direction, "Yes, that's right a goddamn submarine."Another pause as she reached across and grabbed Shaw's file and flipped it open. "Russia. Okay, check your sources and get back to me. What? I don't care what that old windbag says. Don't tell him." She dropped the receiver back into its cradle. "Mr. Lehnsherr. Is there something I can help you with?" McTaggert glanced up at him briefly and returned to studying the pages in front of her.

"Good day, Agent McTaggert. Do you have any more information of Shaw's whereabouts?" Erik preferred the direct approach.

"Nothing yet. Do you have any insights? I believe you're familiar with his file." She looked up and gave him a cold smile.

"Nothing new. But it seems we have had some success with McCoy's transmitter. Charles and I are going to see if we can locate the mutants the machine and Charles located. I trust that you and the CIA are behind us in this endeavor."

Her expression softened. "Of course, that's the purpose of this facility and you know that you all have my full support."

"And the old windbag?"

Moira grimaced slightly, "We are the good guys, Erik and anybody that can help us defeat those, like Shaw, those who would hurt this country, we will support in any way."

"I admire your patriotic optimism, although you'll have to excuse me if I don't applaud your faith in the intrinsic morality of government and its clandestine forces." He wanted to say more but a loud bang at the back of his head interrupted his train of thought. He stopped mouth open ears buzzing, as the sudden noise was followed by grinding and creaking, his skull shuddered with the groan of metal expanding and contracting.

He was, after all, intimately familiar with the sound. It vibrated down through his to his teeth and as he clenched his jaw against the intrusion his mouth was flooded with a cold metallic taste. He flexed his hands, clutching the armrests of his chair, itching to reach out and push it back or pull it forward, control it, bend the invading phantasm to his will.

"Erik, is something wrong?" Moira was staring at him from behind her desk, Erik had to struggle to hear her above the rising pitch of the screeching inside his head and then it stopped as suddenly as it had started. The abrupt silence was cavernous and dark and Erik was standing before he knew it, trying to escape its gravity. Moira mirrored his stance, concern in her eyes. Erik shook himself.

"No, excuse me, I was just thinking about Shaw," he lied. Moira looked at him with something dangerously close to sympathy and before she could say anything that she would regret, Erik decided it was time to leave.

He sought out a quiet corner and sat, trying to quell the tension that was making his muscles ache. This did not happen to him anymore, he had control now. Once, when he was so much younger and in Shaw's cruel hands, he had struggled, his powers waxing and waning, his mastery and his understanding of his powers erratic. It had never felt quite like this. Maybe it was because there were other mutants around him. He should ask Charles, but that would mean admitting to a weakness and Erik Lehnsherr was not weak.

...

Charles closed his eyes as Erik retreated across the room. Kissing Erik, wanting to kiss Erik was becoming a habit. A bad habit? Charles wondered muzzily. Probably, he acknowledged before he drifted off to sleep.

It was jumbled at first, a scattering of fractured memories, taunting him with an intimacy that caused a rush of fear, then retreating, replaced by images that were new and confusing. He stood in the shadowed hallways of his childhood home, the walls lit with a diffuse blue glow, he walked slowly forward, the house was still, static, as if he were moving through a picture, frozen in a moment that Charles knew he should remember.

As he turned a corner he saw a figure silhouetted against the unnatural light. He recognized her immediately, it was his mother. She turned away and moved out of his sight, he followed, quickening his pace, he caught glimpse of her as she turned on corner and then another, he was beginning to feel that he was trapped in a maze. He turned one last corner and found himself at the door that led to the basement, it was swinging on its hinges and a voice called from below, his mother's voice calling his name.

He grabbed the door, pulling in fully open and stopped. There were no steps on the other side of the door, there was a wall. Charles' heart constricted at the sight. It was a sheet of steel, crisscrossed with wide strips and dotted with rivets. The walls and sloped ceiling of the stairwell were cracked and splintered where the panel cut through them and extended further into the structure of the house.

The surface of the panel was dulled with age and dotted with rust. He reached out a trembling hand and laid it against the steel barricade, it was hot and he snatched his hand away, crying out in pain. The metal before him shuddered, Charles stepped back, the open wooden door began to shake as the shuddering increase in intensity and there was a loud crack and one of the rivets popped off, flying through the air before he had time to react, it struck him between the eyes, and then there was nothing.

He woke up when he landed on the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Tensile Strength of Memory**

**Chapter 4**

_A moral being is one who is capable of reflecting on his past actions and their motives - of approving of some and disapproving of others._  
Charles Darwin

x x x

It might once have been quite a grand hotel, with its tall narrow windows and a grand portico, but it was no longer the refined rest stop it had been in years past. The patchy stucco of its walls looked out to the old railway station, and a garbage strewn park; scraggy bushes and sleeping drunks interspersed in the grass and weeds. A freight train rumbled in the distance.

Charles gazed at the building not trying to hide his dismay.

"Not up to your high expectations, Charles?" Erik leaned against the car and peered over the top of his sunglasses. This been the closet location recorded by Cerebro to the CIA base, a four-hour drive, most of which Charles had spent discussing the finer points of his thesis, including a rather breathless discourse on the reproductive advantages of certain mutations. It had taken Erik three hours to realize he was flirting.

"Are you certain this is the right place?" Charles regarded the crumpled piece of paper in his hand with deep suspicion. Erik pushed off the car and plucked the paper from his hand.

"Hank and Raven were very thorough in pinpointing the co-ordinates that you generated." Erik stuffed the paper in his pocket. "I believe Hank mentioned that one of the other locations appears to be a correctional facility of some sort, McTaggert is busy pulling some strings to get us in. I would have thought a rundown rooming house is an easier proposition, for you."

He clapped Charles on the shoulder. "Come on, Charles. This is our first recruit. I thought you would show a little more enthusiasm. I'm sure you won't catch anything." Erik grinned and trotted lightly up the front steps.

"You did lock the car?" Charles followed Erik up the steps and through the double doors, it was colder inside than it was outside and the heady mixture of stale beer, cigarette smoke and urine scented the air. Any architectural details or elegant finishes that had once adorned the walls and ceilings of the hotel had long since been stripped away or hidden under layers of cheap paint and cheap paneling; only an ornate but broken chandelier remained, hanging down over the lobby, its long crystals dulled with a thick coating of dust, no longer reflecting the light from the low-wattage bulbs.

Cautiously and almost against his better judgment Charles reached out, his fingertips lightly massaging his temple, he dropped his hand immediately. Hidden among the minds of down and outs, damaged by alcohol and illness and life was another, different from the rest. In his mind's eye it glinted, like the sun reflecting of the surface of flat, dark lake, its cold waters hiding its true depth. Charles could not disguise his discomfort; Erik noticed his expression and smirked.

"I've stayed in worse," Erik shrugged, slipping of his sunglasses and carefully taking in his surroundings. An involuntary reflex, Charles reflected, the subtle shifts in the Erik's stance and the flickering of his senses on the alert feeling too much like a gentle caress against his skin. Stairs- main, wrought iron banister. Probably back stairs near the kitchens, behind the bar. Bar to the right. Elevator, out -of -order, manager's office to the left, nothing in the way of security measures. Multiple exits including …

"Ah," Charles whispered, glad for the momentary distraction, Erik's mind shining siren sharp. "You're - casing the joint. That is the correct expression, isn't it? Erik stared at him.

"Sorry, you were thinking rather loudly." Charles looked guilelessly up at him and then rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. Erik frowned and nodded toward the manager's office.

"No. No need to ask." Charles gave himself a little shake. "He's here. Close by. Let's try the bar."

It was a small place, lit mostly by the daylight coming in through small frosted glass windows set high into the outside wall, it barely reflected off the spotted and cracked smoked mirror that encased the length of the bar itself. The place was mostly empty, a few patrons slumped over grimy tables, while the oldest bartender Charles had ever seen, cursorily dragged a filthy cloth along the worn wood of the bar top, he looked up as they entered and scowled, he didn't appear to have any teeth.

Charles hesitated, squinting in the low light, its inebriated occupants glancing briefly at them and returning to their drinks. Charles tried to ignore the slow churn of thoughts, disparate and random, washed away by alcohol. He felt drunk by proxy.

"I don't know..." Charles began and then a washroom door on the other side of the room opened and a young man stepped into the room, Charles stepped back, bumping into Erik standing close behind before he even knew what he was doing. The man took no notice of the newcomers and sat down at an empty table and half a glass of beer waiting for him. Erik took hold of Charles' elbow and guided him forward.

"Time to say hello." As they approached the young man looked up, he was in his early twenties, Charles thought, it was hard to tell, he did not appear to be thriving in his current environment. He was thin, his shoulder length hair matted, clothes worn, his gaze fell away as they reached the table.

"Leave me alone," he spoke quietly, his voice soft and cultured, not at all what Charles was expecting to hear, the dark surface of the lake rippled through his thoughts.

"We understand. We just want to talk." _We're like you_. Charles smiled, forcing himself to be open and relaxed he leaned forward to make eye contact, ignoring the sting of cold he felt as the distance between them decreased. The young man did not return his gaze; he stood abruptly, shoving off the table and with head down pushed past them to the door. Charles stayed where he was and would have stayed there had not Erik grabbed his arm and tugged.

"Charles!" he hissed. Charles swallowed the instinctive 'no' that came to his lips. They followed him into the lobby, out of the main doors and across to the untidy park, he stopped, staring across at the railway station. With Erik's hand on his arm Charles had no chance for second thoughts, although his first thought had been warning enough. He had made a promise to himself, claimed the responsibility and here he was falling at the first fence. As he pulled his arm free of his companion, the screech of heavy iron wheels grinding across the freight yard switches drowned out all other noises, the young mutant raised his head and turned to meet Charles' eyes with a blank expression.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," Charles kept his distance and spoke gently. "I wasn't lying when I said we're like you, we can do things that other people might not understand. There's no need to be afraid."

The man blinked slowly and Charles started. He was looking at himself, a much younger self staring back at him, and then the face flickered and his stepfather stood before him, before it shifted again to another face, one Charles barely remembered and then another, a parade of memories that Charles had never shared and had never intended to.

He closed his eyes. _Stop it, please_, he pushed out the command and recoiled as it bounced back to him. _Stop it, stop it, stop it_. He opened his eyes as someone grabbed his arm, Erik's strained expression and wide eyes met his.

"Stop it," Erik rasped with a trace of desperation edging into his voice, he fingers dug into Charles' arm. The young man blinked at them again.

"Leave me alone," he repeated and turned and walked away. They watched him leave, Charles took a deep breath and another, embarrassed that he was shaking slightly. Erik was still gripping his arm and Charles realized that Erik was as unsettled as he was.

"What did you see?" he asked slowly, afraid of what the answer might be, afraid of what Erik might have seen. There was a few seconds of silence and Erik let his hand drop.

"Shaw, among others. No one I would care to remember. You?" Erik fumbled for his sunglasses and slid them back on; Charles sucked in a sigh of relief, looking up to see his own reflection in the dark lenses, he shook himself in an effort to still his trembling muscles and dislodge the images of his past from taking fresh root in his mind.

"An interesting form of adaptive camouflage, useful as a defense mechanism. A mutated form of aposematic signaling, one could argue. Rather disconcerting." Charles watched their first attempt to reach out to other mutants disappear back into the old hotel and glanced back at Erik and his sunglasses. "As you said, no one I care to remember."

They returned to the car and as he pulled open the passenger door Charles could have sworn that his reflection in the window shifted and for a moment Erik stared back up at him, he yanked the door open, slamming the door behind him as he squirmed into his seat. Erik had already started the engine and without a word they pulled away from the run-down buildings and their unwelcoming inhabitants.

They drove in silence to the more salubrious side of town and found a small but well-appointed hotel and booked adjoining rooms. Charles turned away from the ornate gilded mirrors that decorated the plaster alcoves of 2nd floor hallway, the faint ripples that washed across their surface, teasing the peripheries of his vision. He found himself composing an addendum to his thesis and outlines for papers he would never get around to writing, losing himself in the language of science and theory, words to block out the presence of those around him and the knowledge that he was not as alone in his abilities as he had once feared.

Charles was glad that the dining room was mostly empty, he and Erik sat tucked away in a quiet corner, decidedly not talking other than to peruse the menu and order drinks. At least one too many for Charles because by his third glass of wine the thoughts and feelings he had tried to lock away came spilling out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he declared after swallowing a particularly mellow mouthful of red wine. Erik put down his glass of beer and looked expectantly at him. "I made somewhat of a mess of our first attempt to reach out to our fellow mutants. I should have anticipated the outcome a little better." Erik remained silent and Charles couldn't seem to stop talking.

"I have to confess that when we arrived at that place, that hotel," Charles waved a hand in the air, "that my first incursion into the minds there was not promising. Despite what you think I am discreet and although I am prone to be a tad judgmental, at least according to Raven, I really thought that we… I could find some commonality between us." Erik frowned. "Between that young man and me, I mean. It seems I was being too presumptuous. If I cannot reach out to someone so similar to myself I have to wonder how effective I can be with others."

"Charles." Erik leaned forward. "He was only a few years younger than yourself and despite what you think you are not omnipotent. We cannot all be as lucky as you, to nurture your mutation, your gift in privileged comfort or quietly hide ourselves away from those who would abuse us. He is just one, there are many others."

Charles pressed his lips together, stifling the flow of words that welled up. Appearances were sometimes the most effective camouflage and Charles had learned that even the most astute of men would let the reflection of their own prejudices blind them to the reality that was before them. He was more like the young man in the park than he liked to admit.

"Come now, Charles. There's no need to sulk. I feel like a brandy. Would you join me?" Erik flashed his most charming smile and Charles nodded, begrudgingly.


End file.
